


All Good Dates Start with a GSW

by Boom



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Flash Fic, Prompt Fic, tbh I have no idea how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:39:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boom/pseuds/Boom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint walks into the wrong clinic with a bullet in his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Good Dates Start with a GSW

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I found a generator and it popped blood bank and spies out so this happened and I apologize but not really so I hope you enjoy it :)

Clint crashed through the door, feeling too light headed after stumbling down the street for so long. He reached for the nearest seat and collapsed, focusing on keeping his breathing even enough not to pass out.

“I’m sorry sir-- holy shit!” the nurse jumped away from him, looking around frantically before approaching him again much slower, “Sir? Can you hear me?”

Clint groaned in response, sending the girl three feet in the air again.

“Phil!” the nurse shrieked, tearing from the room, “Phil there’s a guy dying in the waiting room!”

Clint flinched from the noise, feeling his world darken and wondering if this was really it. He was going to die in the middle of a no name clinic far from New York and SHIELD and everyone. And all because the freaking nurse was scared of a little blood. He gently peeled his hand away, staring forlornly at the hole in his side only to have it covered again, a large hand pressing his fingers back into place.

“Sir, my name is Dr. Coulson, can you hear me?” the voice sounded close and steady. It wasn’t the nurse, but Clint was having a hard time keeping his eyes open enough to see. 

“Can you tell me your name?” the voice insisted. Clint nodded, pawing at his shirt. Another warm hand gently reached down around his neck, stopping on the dogtags over his heart and pulling them out.

“Skye! Tell them his name is Clint Barton, O-neg, former Marine.”

“Got it! They’re on their way!”

The doctor mumbled something under his breath, pressing harder down on Clint’s side, making him groan.

“That’s right,” the doctor encouraged, “Talk to me, Barton.”

Clint couldn’t help his huff, “You might… have to buy... me dinner… first,” he wheezed. Which he hoped kinda made sense. It did in his head, that counted right?

The doctor chuckled, “Tell you what, you don’t die in my waiting room and I’ll buy you dinner for the rest of your life.”

“Deal,” Clint thought he said, but honestly the darkness swallowed him before he could be sure.

 

~~~

 

The beeping he was expecting when he woke up an undetermined amount of time later. Clint was used to hospitals with their matching white walls, industrial windows, thin sheets and smell of antiseptic that inevitably seeped into his skin. What he wasn’t used to were people. Specifically, rumpled looking doctors with glasses perched low on their noses flipping through a file with one hand and texting or taking notes on their phone with the other. Or, okay that was wrong, of course he was used to doctors, but doctors sitting casually next to his bed? Not giving him strict instructions to stay off the range or trying to assassinate him? Very weird.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” the doctor looked up long enough for Clint to get a good look of a handsome face before the glasses were removed and he was assaulted with the greenest-- wait, the greyest-- the green-grey-e-ist--

Sea foam, Clint finally decided, this guy has eyes like sea foam. Or sage. Yeah, sage was better. Sage eyes and crow’s feet. Wait, did he say something?

“What?” Clint asked.

“I asked how you were feeling,” the doctor smiled. Showing more crow's feet. Clint felt himself swallow.

“Oh,” he finally looked down at himself. Bruised, scraped, but no broken bones beyond the two toes that had slowed him down in the first place, and of course the gun shot, which someone had been kind enough to sew shut for him, “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

The doctor couldn’t fully stifle his laugh, “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Clint replied, then immediately flushed. Well at least his reflex was to be polite, “So, uh…” Clint cast his mind to change the subject, scratching the day old growth on his cheek, “How’s uh… the nurse?”

“Skye?” the doctor shifted in his seat, somehow making the plastic look comfortable, “She’s not a nurse, she’s a volunteer.”

“You have volunteers working in a doctor’s office?” because Clint want’s stupid. He knew he ran into some sort of clinic, probably a family practitioner or something. He’d just been looking for the nearest medical attention, honestly, and the sign had caught his eye. He hadn’t exactly had the time to read it, but he remembered the logo kind of.

“You didn’t walk into a doctor’s office,” the doctor (read that again, the _doctor_ ) said, “You walked into a blood bank. A donor center.”

Clint blinked owlishly, “I what?”

“You walked in five minutes before we officially closed,” the doctor pressed his thumbs together, “Skye and I were to only ones left in the building. You were very lucky.”

“Tell me about it,” Clint heard himself say. A blood bank. Clint’s mind reeled back to that night, stumbling through the dark and the cold, seeing Doctor Center in big red lights. Doctor Center.

Clint smacked his face with a groan, “Donor, not doctor.”

“I’m sorry?” the man said next to him.

Clint flapped his hand, his face beat red if the heat was any indication, “I suck at reading.”

The doctor nodded, as if that were a perfectly reasonable answer. Clint was grateful he didn’t push it.

“So um,” Clint searched the room for another topic, realizing a little too late he didn’t want this kind stranger to leave just yet, “Thank you. Again. For you know,” Clint waved at his heavily bandaged side, “Saving my life.”

“Of course,” the doctor replied smoothly, “I’m happy I could help.”

“Yeah, um,” Clint huffed a laugh, deciding to get ballsy, “I really should repay you. Dinner, or something. I think I remember agreeing to that.”

Now it was the doctor’s turn to blush, looking at his hands as his ears turned a very flattering shade of pink, “That was said in the heat of the moment, of course I’m not holding you to it,” somehow his flush darkened as he glanced anywhere but at Clint before squaring his shoulders slightly and staring him head on.

Clint couldn’t help but smile, “I’m game if you are.”

The doctor worried his lip, “When you’re all healed,” he said carefully, “We’ll talk about it.”

“That’s a yes, right?” Clint asked.

“When you’re healed,” the doctor repeated a small smile ticking the corner of his mouth.

Clint’s smile felt like it could power a small caribbean island, “I’m Clint, by the way. Clint Barton.”

“Phil Coulson,” Phil replied, his own version of a thousand watt smile covering his features.

Yeah, Clint thought, taking Phil’s hand, this was gonna be good.


End file.
